


Masks That Cover Who We Are

by just_take_it_to_understand



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Death, Depression, Galra!Keith, Lance feels unwanted, Lance keeps a journal, Langst, M/M, Past Suicide Attempt, Sad (hopefully), Self Harm, Slow Burn, Smut (eventually), Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Triggers, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 03:58:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14204541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_take_it_to_understand/pseuds/just_take_it_to_understand
Summary: Bitch. Dumbass. Fucker. Nobody needs you. You're nothing. Worthless. You should die. Pathetic. Nobody wants you. We're better off without you.After a mission gone wrong, Lance and Keith are left stranded on an unknown planet.Struggling to survive the new threats and impending danger, Keith, and Lance will be forced to put aside their forever remaining rivalry or face the consequences that the world has in store for them.Can both boys survive their version of hell, or will only one be able to make it off the planet alive?





	Masks That Cover Who We Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Public?](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Public%3F).



> Hola capuchos! How are you doing? My name is just_take_it_to_understand. Um, first of all, I guess my favorite color is green, I'm a huge Star Wars and Harry Potter nerd, and I love gay people. And I'm not ashamed to say this here because people won't judge me like they do at school! Online friends are better than real life friends, right? Okay, if you couldn't tell, I'm super awkward and feel more comfortable away from society than in it. Boom. Life summary. Anyway, I am a beginning writer (sort of), and this is the first thing I've published. I like to type stories to myself, but I've finally gathered the courage to post this for more than one person. I would like criticism (so I can get better) and will be very honored if people read my story, so if you're here, I salute you, soldier. Um, this story is also perceived through Lance's journals, but some parts have some actual dialogue. I hope it's not confusing. Pay attention to the dates and stuff. So, yeah. Yeppppp. It's 12:13 am where I am. I'm eating LifeSaver Mints right now. Can you get drunk on mints? If you can, please tell me. I'm distressed. I think I'm hallucinating. Send Help.

_Day 3_   
_Mission Log 4_   
_Estimated Time 23: 47_   
_Date: 17th of February_   
_Location: Unknown_

_The air continues to become stiffer the more time we stay. I can no longer smell the difference between new and fresh and old and dry. There is no place for air to circulate. We've searched for hours. We've felt between every crack, every crevice, yet there is not even a space big enough for the end of my pinkie finger. This air feels like tar. I hate it. It burns my lungs like ember fire. Every time I breathe, it brings me pain, and it scratches the inside of my throat. No matter how big of breath I take, I am never satisfied with what I am receiving._

_The smell is stale and reeks of urine. The body odor in here is enough to make me throw up. But I know I must not. It will only increase the effects of the aroma that I don't seem ever to become nose blind to. I haven't even been here one week, and already I'm about to suffocate._

_My eyes haven't stopped watering ever since we've been here. At first, I thought I was crying, but I realized people can always stop crying if they wanted to. These tears never end. They don't even make it past my lips before they evaporate into the air, the heat breaking their existence. My lips are bleeding. I'm sweating. A lot. I don't think this is normal. I wish it would stop. My hair sticks to my forehead; my feet are sticking to my socks. My clothes are damp. Everything is merely uncomfortable. I wish we could leave. I would give anything to feel the breeze of the outside air, chilled, refreshing; I hate this. I can't live in this state. It's a repeating cycle of sweat, tears, food, and sleep. I hate this stupid place._

_The sand is everywhere. It's in my boots, in my suit, in my hair, in my skin. Every inch of me seems to be filling with the coarse little grains. They crawl between my toes and in my ears. I itch and itch and itch and itch, but nothing helps. Each movement I make makes me flinch as if a thousand ants are continually running over my being. The sensation never stops. My skin is raw from all the scratching. Red, angry marks never have the chance to fade away before I'm scratching them again. I've scratched so much my fingernails have worn right down to the skin. I think I'm allergic to something in these minerals._

_There is barely any light. The only source we have is from the glow in our helmets. My eyes struggle to see any further than eight inches in front of my hands. I am scared. I feel as if a beast stalks me. The creature is slowly circling, making its way closer and closer until I am sure it will sink its razor-sharp fangs into my skin. I cannot understand why the human mind acts this way. Creates feelings, hallucinations of things that aren't there. I hate not being able to see. I don't like the dark._

_Mama used to tell me that when I was little, I would sneak into her bedroom with a flashlight strapped to my hand. I would tiptoe over to her side of the bed, silently pulling myself up. I would lay down next to her and bury myself as far under the covers as I could go. She said the first time I did this; she thought the ferret had gotten out of his cage and was making a nest under her covers._

_Mama wouldn't get angry. She never did. She would tug me up from where I laid, the flashlight still shining and grasped in my fingers. My hair would be wild, sticking up in all directions, the static attracting loose pieces of cotton to my scalp. My pajamas would be bunched up around the ankles, and my shirt stuck beneath the elastic of my shorts._

_She would lightly smile, her teeth perfectly straight, shining like the moon. Her golden eyes would briefly close, my flashlight blinding her before she was able to find the power switch and turn it off. She would pull me close to her chest; my ear pressed against her breastbone. Her heart beats would help to soothe me, the rhythmic pulse lulling me into a sense of serene tranquility._

_Her voice sounded like honey, the substance thick, but syrupy. Her breath would tickle my head as she whispered stories about Niño Del Sol; Child of the Sun, the evil man who wanted all the power of the world to belong to himself. The tale would lull me into my imagination, pulling me into its world, its thoughts, its fantasies. Its grasp would not so much as let my head fall astray from the path of adventure, taking me and never giving me back. I was happy though. I lived for the experience. I never wanted to leave._

_I longed to become a character in mama's story, risking my life day after day. I wanted to go on grand adventures and fight in dangerous battles. I wanted to fight one on one with a sword and a shield, protecting my country and saving others lives. I wanted to be el héroe, the savior, who stopped Avitus Bassianus from assaulting women and taking wives to be his own. I wanted to be the one who prevented innocent men from being slaughtered and children from being orphaned. I wanted to save Rome from a madman, freeing the country of its dictator. The horrors and pain that he caused within his reign would be forgotten as I defeated him. I wanted to be el héroe._

_Do you think a human can survive without water by drinking blood? The Vampire Bat does it, so why can't we? Can our bodies not just adapt to the new liquid and let us survive, instead of slowly dying of dehydration? Could our bodies change if they intended for us to live? Or would they refuse and let us die, when the answer for survival is right in front of them?_

_I am tempted to drink my blood. I am so thirsty. There is no water. There is no milk. There is no anything that I could drink or eat to satisfy my need. I would even be okay with space juice right now._

_I cannot get the thought of running waterfalls and swimming pools out of my mind. I wish my tears would stay long enough so I could taste them on my tongue, but I fear the salt would only be worse. It is getting hard to think straight. My thoughts trail off on tracks that have no end in sight._

_My hunger grows each passing minute. So does Keith's. Our stomachs echo throughout the cave. We don't have very much food left. There are only three ration packets, two filled with nuts, bread and crackers, and the other with dried meat and vegetables. We are eating just one a day, splitting everything into equal shares for the both of us. We have already eaten today, but we are both tempted to open another._

_We refuse to speak. We are still rivals. This proximity has only brought us farther apart. We sit at least three arm lengths away, the most significant distance we can accumulate, keeping our eyes glued to the ground. Nothing will be said unless we think the other has messed up counting our pieces of food. Even then it's only a harsh grunt of "your giving yourself more" and a "no I'm not."_

_I can't describe how angry he makes me. He's infuriating. I think he thinks our situation is a joke. I am scared, bored and starving, but he looks as if this is a regular day for him. All he does is sit around and completes nothing while I try and find ways to get out of our predicament. He makes me so mad. I've attempted to blast through the stones with my Bayard, firing at all corners of the cave. I've tried to slice through it with KEITH'S sword and even push and pull rocks away with my bare hands. Nothing works. The stones keep going and going and going. I've moved so many that my hands have split open. The cuts burn constantly. I don't think they're healing right. The blood never clots, and the wounds keep on dripping. The floor is coloring with red._

_So far all Keith has managed to do is amuse himself by using his knife to scrape at the rocks that keep us trapped here. The scraping irritates me to no end, but I don't say anything. I don't want to waste the oxygen by starting a fight that will undoubtedly escalate. Because that's what Keith does best, starts and increases conflicts._

_Every single time I crack a joke or pick on him just the slightest, he blows up. Anytime I miss a shot when Voltron is in battle or screw up part of a mission, it's "way to go, Lance." or "Lance, shut up!" Like right now. Apparently, it's my fault we're stuck here, and it's my fault that we're running out of everything. But I didn't do anything wrong this time. It was bad luck._

_It seems like bad luck likes to follow me around._

_Maybe it is my fault we're here._

_Well, this seems to be the end. For both my life and my pencil's. I'm running out of led, and if I'm going to stay trapped in this cave for another day or two, then I'm going to have to save what I can before I die. Maybe this notebook will be found in a couple of hundred years, and people can finally figure out what happened to Lance McClain. And Keith, I guess. But I hope that isn't the case._

_I don't know if I want to die. I'm not certain. Would I be missed? What kind of death do I want? Is it wrong that death doesn't concern me? If I died, I don't think I'd care. It doesn't matter if I'm dead or alive. This lack of nutrition is getting to me. I thought I had gotten over these thoughts. No. No. I'm not thinking about this. I'm not writing about this. I'm not going through this again. I got past it, and I can stay past it. I can. I have to be strong. For mama. I can't disappoint mama. Perderse pensamientos._

_Okay, I will finish. I'm putting down my pencil. This has got to last me, or I might go insane. My emotions might explode. Or worse. You can do this Lance. You can do this. I'm strong. I'm powerful. Except I have to reassure myself that I am. Do people have to do that? Strong people don't have to do that._

_No! Dios! Stop writing you fucktard! You need to stop! Your thoughts are betraying you again._

_I'm a stupid bitch! I'm hopeless! I can't do anything without anyone here to help me! What would mama say if she could see me now? She would be disappointed. She would be too ashamed even to call me her son. I left her. I left her. She doesn't even know I'm alive. Oh, mama. I miss you so much. I want to come home and see you and the rest of the family. I'm falling apart. I can't live with the thought that you think I'm dead. I've left you with no hint of where I am or where I was going, and you don't even have a body to bury. Lo Siento mama. Please. I need you. I can't do this anymore. I can't. I can't even make it to my fucking funeral. And I can't stop writing down my feelings. I'm weak. I know. Mama, please. Please, Mama, I need you._

_Agh. These thoughts! I think I'm going to kill myself._

_I need your help mama._

_I want to die._

_Help me._

_Please._

_~_

_Day 1_   
_Mission Log 1_   
_Time: 19: 54_   
_Date: 15th of February_   
_Location: Castle of Lions_

_So._

_This is new._

_I don't think I've ever tried writing in a journal before._

_Allura says the team should start keeping track of our thoughts and feelings to help us express our emotions. She says we all remain too much inside ourselves and it's tearing the team apart. I don't need this notebook to express myself though. I could talk about my feelings all the time with no shame. Everyone knows that. I'm perfectly okay. I don't need some paper to tell me what's wrong or what's right with what I think._

_Hell, just the other day I flat out told Keith if he didn't stop trying to one-up me I would cut his hair so short he would look like Mr. OHair from the Lorax. Of course, he didn't get my reference, but the threat still counted. I got a laugh out of Hunk and Pidge._

_What am I supposed to be doing in here though? I have nothing that I need to say. Do people back on Earth take time out of their day to write in these? Allura did mention we could doodle pictures, just not about any random thing. They have to be related to what we're feeling._

_Ugh. Feelings. Here are some opinions of feelings for yah._

_I feel like this journal is pointless. It's stupid, dumb. There's no other word for it. This paper should have a real purpose, something people can use. For instance, it can be used to make paper airplanes or pirate swords. Or it could be folded it into an origami swan or boat to see if they would float._

_Heh, that rhymes._

_Paper can be used to pass notes in the middle of class, holding secret information about the teacher that you wouldn't want to be read aloud._

_I believe this was the original intended purpose of the paper, I'm sure of it._

_And I feel like we could be using this time to plan battle tactics against the Galra or have team bonding in our lions. Allura, you're always saying we need to spend more time training if we're ever going to defeat Zarkon. You're just going back on what you said._

_This is stupid. This is so boring. How am I supposed to write in this if I can't stay inspired? Am I allowed to write about other stuff than emotions? Are there rules to what I can and cannot say? Well, if there are, screw the rules._

_Today started off as any one of my regular days do._

_I woke up at an insane hour of the morning, Allura insisting that training with the lions was essential to defeating Zarkon, which it is. But that doesn't mean I like getting_ shot _at the ass crack of dawn by the other paladins in the measure of an agility course. I don't think even Keith was awake enough to find the challenge the least bit pleasing. Although Shiro was all too happy to comply with this 'training' when Allura deemed him the best at dodging bullets and escaping attacks before the rest of us paladins had even stepped outside._

_And eating Coran's idea of breakfast after we came back in was not something that any of us were looking forward to. Hunk was too tired to stand up, taking the seat closest to the door as soon as his feet stepped into the kitchen. Pidge was carried in by Shiro and laid down on the middle of the table. And Keith, like usual, stood in his corner, probably brooding over what we did wrong and what he did right. Honestly, that's all he ever does._

_And why does he get all the compliments and support for what goes on during practice courses and missions?_

_"Wow, Keith. You really are an amazing flyer."_

_"I like the way you took down three of those training ships in one shot today Keith. Super cool."_

_"Keith, Keith! Can you teach me how to do what you did earlier? Pulling out at just the last second to have the bots hit each other with their swords instead hitting you! That was galactic!"_

_Honestly, I am just as good as a flyer as he is, and my marksmanship can outdo him anyday. Sure he uses a sword and whatever, but I bet he can't snipe people from a building that's 2 kilometers away from the intended target. Beat that Keith!_

_But enough about Keith. His ego is already high enough. He doesn't need it inflated by me ranting about him. Back to the main topic._

_Breakfast._

_Us paladins were forced to deal with the pancakes that were being cooked, some oddly shaped that moved when you touched them, and others that had a bad smell and reminded me of nuclear radiation. Pidge decided she was now awake enough to walk and left the room, skipping breakfast._

_But since I'm a decent person and Coran's favorite, I stayed and complimented him on his cooking. I sucked it up and ate two plates of what he made,_ being _sure to give him my best smile and keep his spirits high. And yeah, my tongue has been numb for five hours, and I keep seeing blue spots everywhere I look, and yeah I do feel super strange, but I'm sure it'll pass._

_Eventually._

_My good deeds don't seem to have any effect on what happens to me though. Karma hates me._

_I can't forget about the water-main malfunction the showers seemed to be having when I stepped in, turning the nozzle while awaiting the freshness I so definitely deserved. My body is my kingdom, and it deserves to be treated as such, so I believe I have the right to want to relax. But I guess Karma said no and decided to put yellow paint of some sort into the pipes._

_My flawless perfection was ruined. I was a mess. If you happened to live in one of the galaxies close to the Castle, you would have been able to hear my blood-curdling scream. I ran out of the bathroom, and down the hallway so fast you could probably hear The Flash theme song playing in the background. But, I didn't grab my towel. I ran out in the nude. I think I'm entitled to say I'm more critical than a sheet. The thing is though; I didn't even care. Sorry suckers, this skin is NOT getting damaged by colored chemicals. Although I think I've caused someone to be traumatized. Shiro will forever be scarred by what he saw, merely taking a peak out of his door to see what my commotion was about. He saw things he'd never want to know as I streaked past him, literally._

_Okay, I do feel sorry about that. I wish the term washing your eyes out with soap could be used in real life without going blind. Poor Shiro. His brave soul. He will be missed._

_Okay._

_That about sums up to the point where I am now. Writing in this journal._

_After the shower incident and the breakfast fiasco, Allura called a team meeting in the living room. It was about the new Galra advancements in the external sector of Damboga, and how Zarkon was collecting a fleet the size of two of it's the planets star systems. The notebooks and feelings, and a rundown of what we were supposed to do in them came shortly after. As much as I hate team briefings, I would have given anything to have had that one continue._

"Okay, can we be done now? We've been writing forever."

Lance and the rest of the paladins currently sat in the lounge, doing precisely the thing Lance was tired of.

"Lance," started Allura, looking up from her position on the couch, "as I have said before, we will be taking one hour out of our day to describe the things that occur to us. What our thoughts are, what troubles pester us. I believe this strategy will severely benefit how Voltron comes together, and also increase the mental state of all its paladins. Simply put, please stop complaining about what we are doing, and do as I say."

"I'm not complaining Allura; I just think it's kind of pointless to be doing something so-"

"Lance, you heard her. Stop whining and get to work."

Lance turned to glare at Keith from where he was crouching on the floor. His hand began to turn white from how hard he was holding the booklet.

"Keith, you don't always need to put your input into other peoples conversations. It's very insulting," replied Lance sassily, laying his paper on the ground and getting up to his feet. Keith sucked in a breath and slowly released it.

Lance was now about two steps away from Keith's claimed area, fists clenched and back arched into a protective position.

"Lance, I'm not in the mood for this. I know this writing is pointless, and I don't want to do it either, but sometimes we have to do things that we don't like to do. So I'll repeat myself, stop whining and get to work."

By now everyone in the room had paused their activities, turning their attention to focus on Lance and Keith. The tension in the room was ever increasing, but oddly enough it cast a feeling of calm. It was normal for these two to start arguing with each other at different hours of the day, mostly over pointless topics that shouldn't need to be discussed. It brought an earthly type of feel that reminded everyone of their homes, alien or not.

Keith stood up; his arms crossed over his chest. Lance growled and huffed, also crossing his arms, mirroring Keith. Shiro decided it was now the time to intervene before something unwanted like a fight began.

"Okay guys, we all have different opinions about Allura's new coping strategy, and we all are different with how we go about completing them, but causing a ruckus is not how we want to go about doing it."

"Yeah I agree with Shiro guys," said Hunk, nodding his head unusually fast. "Let's go back to where we were sitting before and forget this ever happened. Keith, Lance, you with me?"

Both boys glared at Hunk, Hunk shrinking down from where he stood. Shiro glanced at Hunk then turned back to the front.

"Guys, Hunk's right. We all need to take a few breaths and get back to-"

Shiro was interrupted by the Castle's alarms blasting throughout the corridors. Red lights lit up the room like a siren on a firetruck.

"Paladins," Coran spoke, his voice looming above them. "Incoming Galra fleet from sector four! You must get to your lions. Hurry!"

The group in the lounge quickly sprinted out into the hallway, hastily traveling to their lions. It took less than a minute for all the paladins to be situated and out into space before they were quickly falling into action.

This wasn't the Galran fleet that Allura had been previously discussing, but something was very different about it. There was a new ship, oddly small, sitting in the middle of drones. There was no command vessel, hangar cruisers or any typical Galran vessels coming to blast the team out of the sky. It was quite disturbing, in Lance's opinion, that all the ships sat like dolls on a shelf, staring at him. Pidge was the first to start in over the coms.

"Listen up guys. I've run a diagnostic scan over their fleet. Everything seems to be shut down. The drones are deactivated, and their weapon systems haven't even been adequately set up. They're dead in space. It's like their toys or something."

The team sat still, waiting for something to happen. Undoubtedly this was a trap, the Galra merely waiting till the paladins came close enough to ambush. Shiro cleared his throat, rubbing at base of his helmet.

"Coran, is there any sort of life in there? Not that I don't trust Pidge, but two sources of scans are better than one."

"Sorry, Shiro. There is no life in there what so ever. Although there does seem to be a large energy reading coming from the main pod."

"Like a bomb?"

"Not quite. More like a nuclear ball of plasma. It doesn't appear to be giving off any negative radiation. I believe it may be some sort of miniature black hole."

The team sat with unease in space, the vast expanse of nothingness seeming to close in all around.

"Shiro, what should we do?" asked Lance, turning his lion, so it was diagonally facing Shiro's. Lance waited patiently, but no answer was returned.

"Shiro, are we going to do anything?" asked Keith instead, Red pulling up in front of Blue.

"Yeah, I'm just not sure what. Coran, do you think the ship is safe to explore? I don't want the team to get infected with some type of unknown virus."

Coran answered, but Lance wasn't paying attention. Had Shiro purposely ignored him, or did he just not speak loud enough? Whatever the case had been, the lions began moving towards to inactive fleet.

Lance trailed behind, staying close but far enough back that he was sure he was staying out of the way.

Not having a decent enough space to call a landing pad, the Lions pulled in separate directions, landing on the closest ships that seemed to fit them.

"Okay team, I want us to go in pairs. And slowly. I don't want anything to give us a surprise attack. Keith, you're with me. We'll go first just in case. Pidge, Hunk, Lance, you come in second."

"Shiro, wait. I can go in first with you and Keith. If something does get the drop on us, it will be harder for it to attack with three people."

Shiro sighed as the mouth of his lion opened, Keith's doing the same. Lance quickly motioned for Blue to follow their actions.

"Lance, listen. I think it would be better if just me and Keith went in. You can wait by the door and be our shooter. That sound good?"

Lance dropped his eyes to the ground, nodding his head glumly. Of course, he would still have to wait outside. It was always Keith who got to do the dangerous things. Not that driving mega lions and fighting purple furries isn't dangerous, but Lance was getting tired of coming in second.

"Okay, Shiro, the man with the plan. I've got you covered." Lance covered his emotions with a happy smile, putting up the image that it was all okay with him. I mean, it's Shiro. He knows what he's doing.

Shiro nodded his head, placing a hand on Lance's shoulder. He gave Lance a reassuring smile and turned to face Keith. The pair seemed to be reading each other's thoughts, both nodding at the same time. It made Lance's blood boil.

Keith and Shiro turned around, walking step in step up into the inside of the Galran corridor.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! You stayed! Congratulations. Thank you so much if you've made it this far. Am I terrible at writing? Am I good at writing? Am I clinically insane? Tell me. Please. I'm still eating mints. This isn't good. Does this mean I'll star on My Strange Addiction, but instead of mints it'll be toothpaste because mints aren't just what they used to be? Are mints no longer the good kush? Can a mint be used to describe a feeling? Am I feeling so minty right now? Does that work? Please comment and tell me. 
> 
> Also, updates will not be frequent.


End file.
